WOOGSWORLD

How not to use fear as a discipline tool.

2012-05-30T07:00:00.000+10:00

Remember when you were little and you had a fear of the dark? Did you also have a monster under your bed? I bloody well did!

I recall leaping from the doorway onto my Holly Hobby doona in a manner that the ogre, who resided under my bed, could not grab me by the ankles and drag me under. It was so real.

We also had a witch who lived in a fibro shack smack bang in the middle of a paddock at the top of the street. The paddock was filled with thistles and local legend had it that if she saw you, she would curse you with a made up ailment which would see your demise before your next birthday.

When my kids were smaller and unruly, I told them about a mean old lady called Irene. Irene lived in this really ugly brick box a few streets over from our house. Irene had a fondess for decorating her front garden with a gaggle of ugly cacti and her dirty lace curtains were always shut.

I was often telling my kids about Irene and the role that she played in our community.

Irene would take in the local children who were too naughty for their parents. She would feed them stale bread and they only had one toy to play with, which just happened to be a coat hanger. Irene had a nasty black cat called Scratcher who would swipe at you with long, dirty claws. All of Irene's furniture was black and really smelly, due to the fact that Irene existed on a diet of cabbage and would spend her day sitting on the couch, farting and yelling at the poor unfortunates whose parents could no longer handle them.

My kids would listen wide eyed as I told them wild stories about Irene. It was a total winner when it came to discipline.

"I know a little girl who got sent to Irene's for far less than that!" I would warn them after they had behaved like delinquents.

Then shit got real.

One day we nervously walked past Irene's house and spotted a black cat sitting on the front step, generously giving itself a hearty dose of oral sex.

We saw a curtain twitch and heard someone yelling from the backyard. And that is all that needed to happen for me to pull the plug on the whole shebang. The kid were freaked and it would not be wrong of me to admit that I may have been a little rattled myself. I mean I had been waxing lyrical about Irene and Scratcher for a year and some part of me had started to believe it.

Yeah, the rational part.

So as quick as Irene had arrived on the scene, so she left. She packed up her house, gave all the kids back to their parents and moved to Fiji with Scratcher.

Fess up!

What is YOUR irrational fear?

Rise of the Mummy Bloggers

2012-05-29T14:14:00.001+10:00

It seems that Mummy Bloggers (or as I prefer to call them, contraceptively challenged internet writers) are here to stay and have something to say.

But I tell you this for free. If you want to be successful at it, you need a thick skin. Lucky for me, I am like a crocodile.

Click here to read the rest of the article.

Escape

2012-05-28T14:48:00.000+10:00

I was smart to hook up with Mr Woog.

Mainly because his aunty has a house on Great Mackerel Beach and is generous with the key.

To get there, you need to drive to Palm Beach and get a ferry across. You see, Mackerel Beach has not roads or cars. It is an isolated little piece of heaven. You have to take everything you might need.

I needed to take a mate to talk to, so the McDonalds joined us. BabyMac is just the person you need at your side while you sip champers into the afternoon while watching the kids frolic on the beach.

Later that evening, we both got a little toasted and watched the Eurovision "Song" Competition while doing some toasting on our own.

What more could a girl want?

We did a little fishing and Jack caught a strange creature and then another small fish. Harry was beside himself! And after hours, he triumphantly pulled a leather jacket from the depths of Pittwater and I could hear the squeals of delight from the house. Harry threw it back into the water and a stranger went up to him and shook his hand.

Right there. Manhood moment.

But the one thing I would change about the weekend would be my ambitious attempt at getting the kids to pack for themselves. I gave them both a list with 6 things on it.

Pair of Pjs
2 x undies
Long sleeved top
t-shirt
1 soft pant
Jumper

They were clearly not ready for such responsibility, and Harry spent the weekend in his rugby gear which is what he had arrived in and Jack mainly got about in a pair of his brothers underpants which were far too big for him. Because the rest of his clothes got wet when he fell in the water.

For a more lovely and pictorial recount of this "Mums on the Loose" weekend away, please click HERE.

Things They Didn't tell you.....

2012-05-25T08:07:00.002+10:00

Recently I was asked to contribute to a new book, a book about parenting. A book about REAL parenting.

Most specifically, what they did not tell you.

The eBook is now available to purchase here.

http://thingstheydidnttellyou.com/

Things they didn't tell you about Parenting will cost you the tiny sum of $4.99 and for that you will get the stories from 32 women who are not afraid to tell you the truth. All proceeds, EVERY SINGLE CENT, will go towards Foundation 18, a not for profit organisation that runs an orphanage in Indonesia.

Foundation 18 was founded by Australian Mum of 10 Cate Bolt, who even though she pretty much had her hands full, wanted to do more and make a difference with the time she has on this planet.

Chicks like Cate Bolt need to be bottled.

Now, something recently occurred in my house. Something that no one told me might happen. It was a little bit cute mixed in with a little bit creepy.

I was cleaning out Harry's room. (notice I say cleaning out, not cleaning up). I opened the bedside table to find a collection of my old perfume bottles. (I wear Issy Miyake if you are ever looking at sending me a gift...) There were three empty bottles of Issy Miyake staring back at me.

Later I asked Harry why he keeps my empty perfume bottles. He looked me in the eye and told me that he likes to smell them at night because it reminds him of me.

HEART MELTING RIGHT THERE PEOPLE!

I hope this cute little obsession ends before he reaches adulthood, lest I end up as a corpse sitting up in his living room having very one sided conversations with him.

So with that nice thought in mind, I shall leave you. I wish you a wonderful weekend, curled up on a couch somewhere with a cuppa reading The Thing's They Didn't Tell You About Parenting, which you can BUY HERE!

And let me know if you do and

I will send you an empty bottle of Issy Miyake.

Assistance required.

2012-05-24T08:03:00.001+10:00

You might not know this, but I wrote an eBook which is being released in serial form at The Hoopla. It is an A-Z of Style and Beauty, which I am WAY NOT QUALIFIED to pen.

Now when the idea was first born, I had every intention to publish and sell the ebook on this site, but the idea was floated past the editor at The Hoopla who was very keen to host it. Like most things, I go at it like a bull at a gate, only to lose motivation fairly quickly and wander off onto another project, leaving the last dangling, hanging in the breeze that is life's clothesline.

I MAY have given the editor the impression that the book was finished, so now each week I get a peppy note asking for the next instalment which is already written and should be as simple as attaching a file and sending it back.

THE FACT OF THE MATTER IS THAT IT IS NOT FINISHED AT ALL.

Far from it!

My latest chapter is published today. CLICK HERE TO READ IT. But then come back because I need your help.

Ok, so I am up to K and L. As in:
K IS FOR......................
L IS FOR.......................

And I cannot for the life of me think of ANYTHING!

Please. please, please help me out. I will come and fold your washing. I will cook you a tuna pasta bake. I will sit next to you on the couch as we watch The Voice and rub your feet. I will unpack your dishwasher and I will match up all your socks and put them away.

I need your brain. I do not ask for much, but I am asking now.

(and while you are at it, if you could make any suggestions for M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z then that would be tops.)

No one likes a hairy mole.

2012-05-23T08:11:00.001+10:00

I was in my early twenties and at a friends place when I noticed a huge glamour shot of her on the wall. I recall laughing my ass off and paying her out mercifully. It was the 90's and professional photo sessions seem to insist you take your kit off and lie down as they swathed you in white chiffon. It was soft focus a-gogo.

Now that I am only a bee's dick shy of 40, I think how lucky she is to have that photo to look back on. Even though you can make out her ass a bit.

I was contacted by a PR company whose client was wanting to do some photo sessions with bloggers. Immediately I thought no way! But then again, did I want my kids to remember me as either confused.....

or drunk or a mixture of the two.

So I said yes. I mean how hard can it be? I had watched every single episode of Australia's Next Top Model and had even hung out with last years winner Montana Cox at a Marriage Equality Rally so surely some of that magic rubbed off on me. Or maybe I taught her a thing or two....

I asked my friend Steve Murphy about posing and he gave me one piece of advice. Pose like you are resting you chin on the top of a bookcase to get rid of jowls.

So I arrived at the studios sporting a severe under bite and looking like I had been dragged through a bush backwards.

Dear sweet jesus.....

Simona was the photographer and soon I was ready for my close up after a hair and make-up session.. But not really as I just kept bursting into uncontrollable and nervous laughter.

Newsreader Mrs Woog needing a nose job

seriously, who farted....

holding in my stomach and channelling Jackie Collins

The shoot was a hoot and the team at GM Photographic retouched those shots like a maniac, for which I will be forever grateful. After all, no one likes a hairy mole!

DISCLOSURE

I was given this photography session by GM Photographics.

I was in no way obliged to blog about it nor paid to do it.

I mean, I ain't no Kate Moss, clearly!

BUT

I can say they were delightful. If you need a photographer for any occasion, check them out at

http://www.gmphotographics.com.au/

And ask for Simona because she is the shizz.

Parenting 101 - Overcompensation

2012-05-22T07:38:00.001+10:00

Overcompensation can be defined as;

Excessive compensation, especially the exertion of effort in excess of that needed to compensate for a physical or psychological characteristic or defect.

But I prefer to define it, when it comes to your kid, as allowing them the capacity to walk all over you and even coming to the point that I am willing to lay on the ground to allow easier access. But only under particular circumstances.

You may have heard stories along the lines of...

"She fell over playing netball and complained of a sore arm. After a few days we took her to the doctor and turns out.... she had a greenstick fracture all along!"

"He was walking around with the aid of a stick for a few days. Then we took him to the doctor where they called for an ambulance and turns out..... he had acute appendicitis!"

"She came in from riding on her bike, saying she had hurt herself. Turns out...... she was hit by a car!"

When this happens to you, when you poo-poo a child's medical complaint, give them 5ml of Panadol and send them off to school only to find out later that there was a serious medical situation coming on, the guilt is crippling. Like someone has taken to your knee caps with a baseball bat.

You may tend to swing into OVERCOMPENSATION.

This is what has recently happened in the Woog House.

Jack' developed a huge middle ear infection, resulting in a perforated eardrum, the eardrum which had, unknown to us, spat out it's grommet somewhere. But before the doctor told us this, we thought it was just a bad cold.

The Doctor told me that Jack would have been in unbearable pain over the last few days, prescribed antibiotics, a few days off school and booked an emergency appointment with our ENT Specialist. Who I like to call THE ACCOUNT DRAINER.

I felt like a nugget of warm dog turd.

So I called Mr Woog at the office and reported the diagnosis and asked if he felt bad that he snapped at Jack the previous evening. Because he should. As Jack had been in a lot on pain. And he should feel TERRIBLE.

That is called deflecting and projecting my guilt.

Then I went to the chemist where I told Jack he could choose WHATEVER HE WANTED IN THE WORLD. By this stage I was carrying him everywhere and he had started to play me like the mother guilted mother that I was.

He selected a small packet of jelly beans and some new slippers and a kicking hat.

Looking good dude,,,,,

So in conclusion, swift and steady overcompensation will both ease your neglectful mind, and help your child forget that their parent was an asshole.

When do you overcompensate?

Or are you a complete hard-ass?

No, I don't have Munchasuen By Proxy.

2012-05-21T08:37:00.000+10:00

My 6 year old son is currently putting in a 4 day week at his educational institute due to this MOFO lurg that he has managed to pick up. Jack was miserable yesterday. The snot factory was working overtime. His little born eyes are watery and he has a cough that hacks away like a pack-a-day-of-winnie-reds hard core durrie puffer.

He had a play date on Saturday with a little girl from his class. Jack is very popular on the play date circuit due to his incessant charm. His little friend and him played and coughed and played and sneezed. Together!

I am doing everything I can. Like dropping a fifty at the chemist, running around with that hand sanitizer stuff that I have spent years scoffing at and dispensing Panadol like we have established our own methadone clinic.

I feel like putting a big banner across our house. or at least this on the door.

YES YOU ARE! GET OUT! GET OOOUUUUTTTTT! SAVE YOURSELF!

Jack has a significant hearing loss which he has had since birth, but now he is completely deaf due to the phlegm party going on in his middle ear. A party that is going to get hosed down today, with a dose of antibiotics. THE COPS ARE COMING PHLEGM. FLUSH YOUR STASH.

So I am off to the doctor AGAIN, where she will give me a script for Jack and no double ask me to fill in a questionnaire to see whether her suspicion that I am riding the Munchausen By Proxy wave is correct.

And I am going to give her a presentation on why I think establishing a frequent flyer style marketing program would benefit the practices's bottom line.

Do you get sick of sick kids?

What is your secret to dodging the lurg?

Critically Critical

2012-05-21T07:24:00.000+10:00

Ohhh, what a tantalising title.! Critically critical. I could be talking about any number of things with that juicy phrase.

See what I am doing here? I am not-so-subliminly requesting your presence over at The Hoopla today to discuss why your mumma still gets under your skin.

COME OVER AND SAY HI!

and put on some bloody lipstick for god's sake.....

The Game

2012-05-20T13:16:00.002+10:00

The crack of a brand new day.

The explosive fight you have with your spouse as you navigate your way through to foreign suburbs to find the field.

The sulking.

The arrival.

The joy at finding a mouthguard in your hand bag.

The coffee van dispensing warm, brown, piss tasting liquid that one gets when one gambles on purchasing caffeine from a truck.

The puffer vest explosion.

The hero.

The Pirate hooker.

The opposition, including a girl whose very determination, size and speed fill the Pirates hearts with fear.

The objections.

The reassurance that a girl can play rugby and to tackle her as if she was one of the boys.

The apprehension.

The bored brother watching on.

The sideline inspiration for a new breed of designer dog which I shall be calling the Cock-a-dor.

The price point will be $1900.

The game.

The admiration for the try scored by the girl which I dedicate to Germaine Greer.

The full back doing handstands.

The familiar feeling of observing an annihilation.

And the oranges.

Always with the oranges.

The satisfaction in taking comfort in the fact that the only way is up for The Pirates.

Ten Twitter folk you should follow.

2012-05-19T15:05:00.001+10:00

Mr Woog will never understand Twitter. He has said as such. If you ever try to explain to a non twitterer what it is and seen them turn their face to one of complete "What the fuck are you talking about?" do not be alarmed.

This is completely normal. Just shrug your shoulders and change the subject.

Mr Woog does not understand twitter, but he sure knows how to get me to use it on his behalf.

"Can you tweet out and see whether I can make a risotto with basmati rice?"

"Can you tweet out and see what time the MOTO GP starts?"

And he was FLOORED when our LG TV killed off it's audio the other night and I tweeted for some help. Suggestions came in super quick and we were able to get the sound back in time. For him to watch the MOTO GP. He was also amazed that the company got in touch within 4 minutes to see whether they could send someone out to take a look.

Twitter!

Get into it if you are not already. Super easy to set up an account. I am setting up a new one next week for my Mum, who is running in the local council elections (for the 5th term) and it is my goal to get her trending WORLDWIDE!!!! Even though she tells me she is already trendy.

Here are a few of my favourite folk that I follow to help you get on your way.

For razor wit and a bit of argy bargy. Follow her HERE

A fantastic suburban voice. Follow her HERE

Not safe for work. Follow her HERE

Always fun and sometimes having it out with someone. Follow her HERE

Because just because. Follow here HERE

Bring a change of underwear. Follow him HERE

Because she might just be the nicest person in the world. Follow her HERE

American Super Social Media Geek who you will learn from. Follow here HERE

Because despite me stalking her, she still has the good sense not to follow me back. Follow here HERE

WELL DER!

9 fun twitterers and one attention whorey idiot to invest your twitter time in. I promise you, you will not be disappointed.

Do you follow someone special on twitter?

Give them a shout out HERE!

moody cow

2012-05-18T11:12:00.001+10:00

Oh yesterday. What a wonderful mind fuck you were.

I woke with a serious case of the sads. I felt all miserable and disconnected. I wrote a nasty post about my beloved once I had dropped the kids off at school. I looked around at the house and it was a complete disaster. Overwhelmingly so.

Non-moody non-sad me would have pulled up her sleeves, cranked up the music ( a little Amy Winehouse revival going on here at the moment) and got stuck into it. But by this stage the sads had well and truly unpacked and were settled in nicely.

I mean what is the point. No one will thank me and they will just go about their business trashing the joint again.

With the walls closing in around me and the breakfast plates giving me the middle finger, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door to share my miserableness with the world.

Walking along the street with the sun in my face, I felt no different. I had walked a few blocks and was standing at the lights, waiting for them to change when a tradies van went passed. The driver yelled something out at me. I did not quite catch it, but I did get the feeling that he had something to say about my breasts, which were tucked away under a card/scarf combo minding their own business.

I could not make out whether he was being critical or complimentary, so I went with complimentary before I became totally offended. I mean WHO DOES THIS STILL?

Fuck wits do.

My walk continued for another 20 minutes and it's path took me to a shopping centre. Oh retail therapy! That might pull me out of my sads. But the shops were full of office folk on their lunch break and nothing from the racks were talking to me. I came across one of those shops that offer you a range of goods to make your home office all cute and inspiring and crap.

WELL DER! Of course was what I needed. My bloody scissors did not match my stapler. Of course I am fucking miserable!

Around the cutesy shop I went, adding things to my basket to makeover my space. I convinced myself that in order to have a proper TO DO list I needed a dedicated pad that said TO DO at the top. As I lined up with the other chicks who had been brainwashed as well, I looked into my basket and realised that everything I had chosen I already had at home. Just less cute versions.

"Can I help you?" Said the sales lady.

I looked into her eyes and told her "No, I really don't think you can." and handed back the basket of stationary.

Out into the sunshine and on with my walk. I was heading towards the harbour. It really was a most stunning Sydney day. Everyone around me was smiling, going about their day, unaware of the moody storm cloud amongst them who was searching for a solution to her sads.

I came across a cafe and bought a coffee and a bagel before making my way to the harbours edge and plonking down on seagull shit covered bench. I ate that bagel and drank that coffee and pondered "What would happen if I just threw myself in..." just for a moment. Would someone dive in after me or would I just be so cold that I would haul my ass out and then I would just be embarrassed and wet and feel like a drama queen.

Then something shifted.

I laughed at the thought of explaining to the authorities that I was just having a really bad day and I did not really need a psychiatric assessment. I could feel those nasty ass - sads packing up and moving on to the next poor soul. And then I realised.

I just needed some carbs.

I caught a taxi home.

What do you do when the blues visit you?

So. You suspect you married a moron.

2012-05-17T09:48:00.001+10:00

That title looks a little harsh.

Maybe I should have called it Why Does Your Husband Fuck Up So Much?

Doesn't matter. It's done now.

Mr Woog woke up with the sun this morning and drove 20 minutes to the nearest beach for a bit of a surf. He calls it his "Hillsong" time. He paid for the parking and went to get into his wetsuit which was conveniently hanging up.

In the garage.

He turned around and drove back home, arriving WITHOUT A COFFEE FOR ME, which is the only reason I allow him his mid-week Hillsong time.

So he then goes to work and shortly thereafter I receive a text message from him, informing me that he is still in possession of the car keys. And that we should go out for dinner tonight.

I shut my eyes and tried to go to my happy place, failing miserably.

In other news, my big boy returned from a week in Vanuatu where he spent a week spending my inheritance with my Mum. So many wrong things with that sentence.

I missed him a lot.

But was delighted to see he got the full cultural experience.

I was sitting at the table with Mum last night, telling her how exhausted I was after such a big day. I told her about the launch of The Remarkables Agency and what it meant for me. The amazing adventures and opportunities that are opening up.

She looked at me blankly. And told me to put my shoulders back.

She also asked me to send a shout out to Carol, David and Ian from the plane. So.... greetings to all three of you. Mum then made me look at all her photos from her iPhone which were truly appalling as she had her phone set to film, so instead of just taking a picture, she had taken dozens of 3 second scenes.

But anyway, tonight I fancy some really good Thai food.

Do you ever think you married an idiot?

Freakin Remarkable!

2012-05-16T10:06:00.000+10:00

I have been writing since I could pick up a crayon. I have been blogging for two and a half years. It is a cathartic release for me, a habit. A bit like picking your toe nails but far more satisfying.

I tend to write anecdotally. I think everything is a story. I walk around writing in my head all day. Some days this can be a total pain in the ass. Except one day last week when I had writers block. My brain enjoyed some time out. I wondered how long it would last, but it left the next day.

I was taking my kids for a haircut a few weeks ago, when this lady came up to me and told me how much she liked my blog. A completely lovely stranger who spoke to me as if she knew me. Because she does I suppose. It is a really bizarre feeling having a conversation with someone like this. I immediately apologized for some strange reason. Like I should be embarrassed or ashamed for putting my stories out into the universe.

When I write, I never think that someone is actually going to read it. I do not like writing self-consciously. It makes me itchy. I like real.

I think there comes a time in your life when you have to back yourself. I told Mr. Woog this when he started his own business 6 years ago. In order to do something new, you need balls, luck and someone watching your back.

I have someone in this universe that is backing me. My new agent Lorraine Murphy, founder of The Remarkables Group. She has taken over commercial dealings when it comes to WoogsWorld. Because I have proved time and time again that I am completely inept at monetizing this space and she is a complete whizz when it comes to brands and blogging and how the two can work together in total harmony, then run off to Bali to get married on a beach.

Last year I was at the airport heading to a Blogging Conference in California. I wrote BLOGGER on my exit forms under occupation. The man at customs asked what that meant. I was with Eden. We laughed together and told him that it meant that we were two bored housewives that wrote about stuff on the Internet.

He crossed out BLOGGER and wrote HOUSEWIFE.

This year I am going to write BLOGGER again and insist upon it staying.

Because at the age of 38, fate has led to me to a new career. One that I actually adore. I adore the community I have accidently created.

And you are in it.

I am handing the business end of my blog over to The Remarkables Group so I can free up my time to keep walking around, writing stories in my head.

I hope you keep walking with me.

Walking with BabyMac and the rug rats.

The house always wins. (except in my house)

2012-05-15T10:06:00.000+10:00

Working from Home.

2012-05-15T09:48:00.003+10:00

I am one of a million Australians who work from home.

That figure grows each year as people throw off their suits, whack on their trackies and pop on the kettle.

And I want to know from you other 999,999 homies, how do you do it without switching on the telly or getting caught up in some other really important task, such as playing Angry Birds?

it just hasn't been the same since you went away....

Click here to read the rest of my rant on The Hoopla.

Quiver me sphincters!

2012-05-14T07:55:00.002+10:00

Mrs Finlayson and Uberkate

Uberkate is not only a great mate and an amazing jeweller, she also comes up with the best ideas ever, which almost always involve champagne. Yesterday afternoon was testament to this when she organised massages for herself, myself and Mrs Finlayson. We began festivities by rolling a bottle of Croser in record time.

We then walked to the massage place. It was on of those fancy Thai places that make you feel like you are in Bangkok as soon as you step in the door.

Spiked tea

We had a little tea and half an hour of reflexology before stripping off for the main attraction, an hour of Thai massage with oil.

My masseuse asked me if there were any areas I would like her to concentrate on. I told her I tend to carry my stress in my lower back and by bum, which is why it is so large.

BOOM TISH.....

Silence.

Apart from the snort of someone else from another cubicle laughing at my failed, lame joke.

If you thought the Thai people were as funny as the Irish, you would be so wrong. So very, very wrong. I mean, how many Thai Comedians are on the circuit at present? Zero.

But they make up for their lack of humour by extreme massaging.*

When I have a massage, I tend to do one of two things. I either fall asleep after 7 minutes and wake up at the end. When this happens, I often question whether I should have to pay as I was not awake to enjoy it.

The other thing is that I sometimes brew up a bit of a fart, and then have to spend the rest of the time in agony trying to hold it in.

I lay down in the nuddy, all bar my undies, while the lady got a massaging. Oh holly sweet Jesus and his dog! The pummelling and stretching. The oil. The sensation that you are being tongue lashed by a large oxen type creature. All very good indeed.

She got to my lower back and whipped my undies down over my butt in one swift moment. Hello sailor! I felt vulnerable, exposed. The tea I had drunk on arrival must have been packed with rohipnol, as I could not move or talk or nothing. I was in a total zombie like state. I was at her mercy.

Pumelling and kneading my ample ass, the masseuse obviously enjoyed a challenge. But it was not until her finger dipped dangerously close to my asshole that I snapped out of my coma.

I spent the rest of the massage wondering if I had in fact been digitally penetrated.

After we paid and left the establishment, we stood on the street corner waiting for the lights to change when I flagged my concerns with my mates. Uberkate suggested I really clenched my butt, which I did. And nothing.

It was concluded that although the masseuse came mightly close, I had been spared a lesbiany anal encounter.

We walked home in the dark, via the bottle shop, and proceeded to roll another bottle. All the while, clenching and questioning. And clenching.

And this is where I would normally pose a question to you, the reader. But I just cannot think of one today.

~~Have you ever been fingered by a masseuse?~~

*I know. Generalisation. Sorry. Am suffering Post Traumatic Shock.

Mother's Day Dedication.

2012-05-13T08:39:00.001+10:00

"Look Mum.... No hands!" Me according to Jack.

I am spending today with one of my best mates. It is her first Mother's Day as a single mum and she is doing the most amazing job. I am in constant awe of her.

So today's post is dedicated to those fabulous women who are doing it alone.

You deserve a whole freaking parade.

Week's End.

2012-05-12T13:11:00.000+10:00

Polyvore is like Pintrest but for idiots, like me!

What does your weekend look like?

Please note that there are no Woogettes here this weekend, or this would look a whole lot different.

Don't hate me. I got vomited on this week.

A lesson in PR from a PR Rookie.

2012-05-11T10:41:00.000+10:00

Sometimes, when you are a blogger, you get invited to stuff.

The invitations vary from things like "Come and learn about our new type of plastic packaging are switching over to!" or "We would like to share 9 of the 11 secret herbs and spices with you over a bucket of chicken! A FREE bucket of chicken!" or "Dear Mrs Wog, We invite you to come and experience (insert some new fangled technological gadget that I do not need nor will never understand) and then we would like you to blog about it."

Most of the time I am too busy washing my hair or watching my imaginary dog eat my homework.

But a few weeks ago, an invitation popped into my letterbox from one of my favourite PR companies. They wanted to collect me in a limo and take me out to lunch to the MCA and learn about a new product. And there was going to be wine. DAYTIME WINE? Hello.....

They also asked me to share a beauty secret, which was going to remain secret. But it turns out it wasn't. More on that later.

I got caught up with the mundane the morning of the event and it was not until the driver knocked at my door that I realised I was not looking my most lovely. I mean, I was about to hang with THE BEAUTY MEDIA PACK and those bitches are VERY MUCH INTO APPEARANCES. I literally went into a panic and pulled some jeans out of the washing machine which had yet to be put on. I whacked on some foundation and some mascara and chucked a brush through my hair.

I travelled to the event with a very Gen Y beauty blogger who was very much into ignoring me. Awkward!

I arrived at the lunch. The room was spectacularly beautiful. The women were spectacularly beautiful and I felt less like a dog turd on the sidewalk after 2 champagnes.

I hoovered up my lunch and noticed that I was only one of a handful who ate the bread roll that accompanied our chicken. I was also on of a handful who ate all of the dish. But I did not really care because I was getting my wine on.

I was delighted to note that the Beauty Media Pack also enjoyed getting their wine on.

But back to the Beauty Secret.

When the PR asked me for one, I was rushing out the door to take the kids to Rugby running around and quickly banged out a sentence, inspired by a scene on my desk.

Sunlight plus magnifying mirror plus writers block. You know where this is going right?

I pressed send and promptly forgot about it. So you could imagine my surprise when I found out it had been turned into a piece of art and hung with dozens of other "beauty secrets" from the Beauty Media Pack!

Here are some of the more sensible secrets.

I mix rose hip oil with my night cream to boost radiance and help fade scars.

My skin gets very, very dry when I fly, so I always apply a moisturising mask before takeoff.

I always cleanse twice. I don't feel clean if I only go one round with the cleanser.

I nourish my skin from the inside out. A whole food diet and heaps of water is what really gets my skin glowing. Oh and the occasional colonic.

And of course there was mine........ which I got to take home.

After the event was over, I got into the lift with a stack of the pack and listened to them as they discussed the secrets. "Did you see the one about squeezing the blackheads? Yuk!"

I stood there clutching the offensive canvas to my chest praying that they did not notice it, all the while wanting to yell.....

"LIKE YOU ALL DO NOT DO IT! EVERYONE OF YOU... AND YOU THERE WITH YOUR TEENY TINY PORES... EVEN YOU DO IT! OH FOR SHAME......." accompanied by a whole heap of finger wagging.

But I didn't. I just got back into my limo with my sour faced Gen Y new friend and said "Home Jeeves."

So tell me... What is YOUR beauty secret?

And please do not say colonic irrigation or you will be banned from this blog FOREVER.

Grey and Cranky?

2012-05-11T07:39:00.000+10:00

The next instalment of my A-Z of Style and Beauty is up over at The Hoopla.

Click here to find out why I am going grey and getting cranky. Sexy hey! Go on, I gave you a George Clooney perv.....

Kicking the Tooth Fairies Ass.

2012-05-10T08:15:00.000+10:00

Mr Woog and I are notoriously bad when it comes to time to alert the Tooth Fairy that her assistance is required. Time after time, Harry would wake up and come in and tell us the Tooth Fairy had not visited. We would look at each other in blame.

BUT NOT LAST NIGHT!

Jack has been wobbling his bottom tooth incessantly for the past 2 months, urging it to release itself from the pesky confines that are his gums. His baby teeth was not having a bar of it, even though his adult teeth had already grown up and were pushing the baby ones out so far they were sitting and a 90 degree angle from his head.

But they were packed in tight. Not budging. I had already start to consider putting together a dental fund. We were going to need a wad of cash.

Did I mention we were going to need a wad of cash for future dentist visits?

Freak show potential. Or some sort of shark exhibit?

Day after day, Jack persisted with the tooth wobbling. He wobbled on the way to school. He wobbled watching TV. He wobbled during ballet class, swimming lessons and in between mouthfuls at mealtimes. It was deeply unnerving.

But his persistence paid off, and bit by bit his tooth started to loosen up.

And then yesterday morning, as he lay naked on his bed chucking a tantrum, his tooth popped out! A teeny tiny speck but a tooth nevertheless.

Mr Woog and I both knew that we had to remember to remind the Tooth Fairy to visit or hell would break loose come morning time. Jack told us that unless there was Fairy Dust, he would not believe the tooth fairy would have come. He told me this as I was tucking him into bed.

I came out and asked Mr Woog is he could go up to Coles and buy some glitter and he looked at me as if I had asked him to lick the end of a battery. So I put on my thinking cap.

I found the hat that Jack's Fairy Godfather St Murphy had given him for his birthday and unpicked a couple of dozen sequins from it. And I use the term unpicked loosely as I actually used a mother fucker knife to scrape those bad boys off in the manner someone might scale a fish. But I took them from the underside so no one would ever know.

This morning Jack woke up and I could hear his high pitched girlie squeals from my bed.

Mrs Woog 1. Disappointment and Shattered Dreams 0.

Is the Tooth Fairy alive and well at your place?

And what is the going rate for a tooth these days?

Mr Woog finds his G-Spot

2012-05-09T08:23:00.002+10:00

Last night, Mr Woog got himself organised. The kids were banished to another part of the house, he poured himself a glass of red wine and took up position on the couch in front of the television.

It was Budget Night!

His favourite night. A night that he traditionally swears at the screen, sighs a lot, rolls his eyes a lot before switching off the telly then going around the house and turning every light off.

The budget was about to start when I walked past the couch and asked him.

"Do you mind if I write a post tomorrow called Mr Woog finds his G-Spot? Because you always get yourself so worked up about the budget that I think that it some be a semi-sexual experience for you....."

He did not glance my way, but just said no.

About ten minutes later, I went back to argue my case again, and he had turned the television off, saying it was making him angry.

I likened this to a premature economic ejaculation. Wayne Swan was entirely to blame.

Later that evening I saw a tweet from a friend of mine.

So I concluded the budget would not be helpful for our family finances. And then all I could think about was bacon.

Does Budget Night get you all worked up into a lather?

Do you like bacon?

What will you spend YOUR $3 on?

How did I go being technology deprived for 24 hours?

2012-05-08T08:36:00.003+10:00

Better Homes and how I nearly fell prey.

2012-05-08T07:37:00.000+10:00

Homemaker shows. You know the ones.

Where shiny, happy people show you how to make paper pom poms for children’s birthday parties as a stuffed Barossa chook finishes itself off in a fancy oven in the background.

I think that they are dangerous and I recently very nearly fell prey to their evilness.

It was last Friday Night and the combination of a rapidly diminishing bottle of wine in the fridge; me assdown on the coach suffering from mild intoxication; complete exhaustion and a lost remote control left me with no choice but to watch a homemaking show.

CLICK HERE TO READ ON......